


Sea and Sky

by Independence1776



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/pseuds/Independence1776
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elwing reminisces on the coast of Alqualondë.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea and Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solanaceae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/gifts).



> Written for Elvie for the 2014 LotR SeSa.
> 
> Many thanks to Elleth for the beta!

Elwing climbed the path through the rocks leading to the arch over the opening to the harbor of Alqualondë. The waves crashed against the cliff’s base far below; the cry of the seagulls an annoying counterpoint to the otherwise peaceful rhythm. The wind blew salty air across her face, though she’d taken the precaution to bind her hair in a tight braid before leaving the palace.  
  
When she reached the midpoint of the arch, where adolescents dived off from as part of the midsummer celebrations, she stopped and looked out eastward across the sun-dappled water, Tol Eressëa barely visible as a smudge on the horizon. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Today was the twenty-fourth birthday of her sons and she wished more than ever, with the armies of Valinor having sailed to Beleriand to fight Morgoth and his armies, that they were safe.  
  
She left the bare rock of the arch and sat down on one of the sun-warmed, subtly carved rock benches that the Noldor had formed, well before the Exile, to be unobtrusive in the natural landscape of the city parkland that embraced the land on both sides of the arch. So many years later, the wind had sculpted them to be even less bench-like, though the Teleri made sure they were still comfortable as possible. Sitting and listening to the never-ending waves would soothe her. They always had, here and in Beleriand. But she could not hear them in her rooms, and she needed it today.  
  
Her sons were across the sea, caught in the midst of a war they had been born into and could not hope to escape. She did not know if either of them would survive, or if they did, what their choice would be. If both of them chose mortality-- something she could understand given the horror that encompassed much of their lives-- she would never see them again. (Only one choosing mortality was a horror she barely dared to contemplate.) She did not want her last memory of them to be tinged with sorrow, fear, smoke, and blood. Nor did she want her flight to be the last memory they had of her.  
  
But there was literally nothing she could about it if is was: she had made her choices, and she would have to trust them to make theirs. Even though she wished she could have watched them grow: to see if Elrond continued to love music as much as he did or if Elros continued leading his friends and if he kept watching the sailors whenever he could or if Elrond still listened compassionately to everyone. She had to hope she would see them again, having done what she could to ensure their safety and the safety of the remnants of her people.  
  
Her stories of life in Middle-earth had fascinated the Teleri. Not only was she able to give them a glimpse of a lifestyle they did not have and never would, but she was able to immortalize it as well. It meant that at least some of the culture she’d grown up with and seen destroyed would live on. She’d heard many songs here about the deeds done in Beleriand since her stories were disseminated-- some she’d remembered and sung for the Teleri, many others newly written. There were even some about the Fëanorians, though most weren’t willing to sing much about them, not with the Kinslayings. If they sung more about them out of her presence, she didn’t care to know.  
  
Even more than providing the Teleri with much-needed information and history, she’d been able to convince them to help, in memory of those who had fallen and those who still lived. Even though all they had done was carry the army with no intention of fighting, it was more than they’d originally planned.  
  
It was enough. It had to be.  
  
She could no more return to Middle-earth than she could give her family’s hard-won Silmaril to the sons of Fëanor.  
  
But she missed the Havens: the disparate cultures that mingled there, Elves and Men both, the mix of languages (she’d learned Quenya despite her childhood resolve to never do so, something which had ended up useful here in Valinor, as no one knew Sindarin until she’d taught them), and the sense of both relief and joy that the Silmaril had given their land and people. They’d felt safe there, despite everything.  
  
And then there were the sheer differences in geography between Alqualondë and the Havens. Alqualondë was always warm, with the main seasons being wet or dry, and the Pelóri dominating the western skyline. The Havens were in a marshy river delta, with the four seasons she’d grown up thinking of as normal, and incredibly flat with the sea to the west. Thinking about it made her homesick and long for something similar here in Aman. Because apart from the crashing waves, there was nothing.  
  
A crunch of shoe on gravel caught her attention and she turned her head to see Eärwen-- wearing a sleeveless, laurel green, linen sundress and sensible leather boots-- walking up the path. She sat down next to Elwing on the stone bench. “If you wish me to leave, please tell me. But I do not think you truly wished to be alone today.”  
  
Elwing gazed back at the sea. Yes, she had come here seeking solitude, but she did not fully want it. Being alone with her thoughts on days like today would bring nothing but melancholy. “Please, stay.” She looked at her cousin. “I do not intend on returning to the city until sunset.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ask you to. I know crowds bother you sometimes.” Eärwen sighed and looked over the ocean. “We need time to remember, more than what daily life gives us when most of our people and ships are gone. Even the remaining Noldor are struggling with day-to-day life. But there is little that can be done about it.”  
  
Elwing nodded. None of them had much free time. Despite that, people rarely bothered her on this day. They knew the weight of grief. She looked out at the sea and watched a gull land in the bobbing waves. “I still wish I could fly.”  
  
Eärwen took the change of subject calmly, with only a concerned glance at Elwing. “Do you think you’ll be able to shapeshift again or will you need to build a device?”  
  
Elwing sighed and ran her hands down her cotton-clad thighs. Even as exhausting and fear-filled as her flight to Eärendil had been, flying in the sky high above the waves had been exhilarating. Nothing she had experienced before or since came close to matching it. “I don’t know.” She glanced to the side and gave Eärwen a smile. “I don’t think here would be a good place to try.”  
  
She laughed. “Probably not. One of the fields outside of the city would be best.”  
  
Elwing relaxed slightly, letting her shoulder lightly brush her cousin’s. “I’ll try shapeshifting first. There will be no need to build a device if I am able. If I am not--” she smiled fully-- “then I shall craft something. I  _will_  fly again.”  
  
Eärwen smiled back. “I do not doubt that.”


End file.
